A Flight of Fancy
by eyesforfiction
Summary: The small note in the post, more of a telegram really, from Christopher's sister's solicitor had arrived a week before to tell him of her passing. She had lived in Brisbane, Australia for as long as he could remember but he had never thought to go there himself. Now she was gone and her solicitor had asked him to attend the reading of her last will and testament.
1. Chapter 1

**A flight of fancy**

January 1963

Christopher had never really got a long with his sister Alexandra. She was quite a bit older than he was so there was never a common ground. He always thought it a shame and often wondered if he had tried hard enough to bridge the gap himself. Easy to blame one party in a breakdown of family relationships. Harder to evaluate one's own actions and find them wanting.

The small note in the post, more of a telegram really, from her solicitor had arrived a week before to tell him of her passing. She had lived in Brisbane, Australia for as long as he could remember but he had never thought to go there himself. Now she was gone and her solicitor had asked him to attend the reading of her last will and testament. At sixty-eight he was hardly a geriatric but he felt it necessary to ask his son and daughter-in-law to accompany him. It was a long flight – over twenty-four hours of flying time with a two small stops in between.

"Dear God, Dad" Andrew moaned as he got back into the small seat in the QANTAS plane that had been their home for the best part of a day and a half. "Whatever possessed me to say yes to this?"

He wriggled and pressed his thumbs into his knotted back.

"Won't be long, now. This is the last leg."

"Thank God."

The four of them sat across one row of the plane, Andrew and Christopher on one side and Sam and their youngest child, Anthony who was still too young to be left at home on his own, sat on the other side of the aisle. The eight year old had slept for most of the journey but the adults couldn't bring themselves to do so, which might explain the overall grumpiness of the Foyle family.

"Dad?" Called Anthony across the centre aisle. Andrew tensed and drew in a breath. His father gave him a look that said 'have patience'.

"Yes, Anthony."

"Could you fly this plane?"

"Possibly, Son….it depends."

"On what?"

"What controls they use….and where it lands." Andrew gave his best answer and hoped that it would satisfy his son's curiosity.

Anthony looked up at his mother. "Mum" he whispered. Her strawberry blond hair, with just a hint of grey, fell down to cover her ear as she turned her head.

"Yes, Ant."

"I'm glad that Geoffrey and Rose aren't here."

"Are you? Why?" Her mouth curled with just a hint of amusement.

"Means I get Grampa all to myself for a loooooong time." He spread his hands wide to indicate the length and nearly took out his mother's eye.

"Grampa? Grampa?" the curios little boy said once again across the aisle.

"Don't shout across the aisle like that, Anthony. Come over here and talk to me. We've quite a while before we take off, I think."

The boy almost ran across and climbed up into his Grandfather's lap. "Will you help me find a kangaroo, Grampa? When we get to Australia?"

"I'll do my best. Can't promise anything, though."

Anthony, responding to his mother's call, climbed across his father's lap, ran back across the aisle and flopped his bottom back into the seat. Sam fixed both his and her seatbelts quite firmly then said "there we are, Anthony. Now we're ready to take off."

Christopher, impressed with Sam's management of the situation didn't notice how Andrew winced uncomfortably at the mention of the word 'take-off'. Sam did. She reached across and touched her husband's arm until he opened his eyes and looked over at her. "If you need it, I have more of those chewing sweets, darling. They helped last time, didn't they?"

He nodded. "They did. Thanks, Sam. I'll let you know." A sneaky smile reached his lips and he nodded to their overly active son. "Well done with the seatbelt, by the way. Good idea." She nodded back and smiled innocently as if she had no idea what he was talking about. Christopher couldn't help a chuckle.

ooOOoo

After almost thirty-six hours on and off planes, and being cooped up in a confined place, Christopher thought his whole body was going to cease up on him. Once the air hostess had given them the signal that it was time to exit, both Andrew and his father stood slowly. Andrew reached for his son's hand and told him sternly "now stay with us, Ant. Don't run off."

"Yes, Dad. I promise" the boy said but hopped from one foot to the other in obvious excitement.

"Stick with me, Anthony. Otherwise," his grandfather told him, "if I see a kangaroo, I won't be able to tell you."

"Yep."

"How's your head, Andrew?" Christopher asked his son with a hand on his shoulder.

"Terrible" his son replied, "but I'll survive."

"Good to hear."

Sam handed Anthony's hand to Christopher, who took it happily, and put an arm around her husband's waist. "Why don't you have a lie down when we get to the hotel, darling? We don't have to be anywhere until the morning. No rush."

"I think I might, Sam. Sorry, I'm being a bit of a grump…..don't mean to be."

"I know" she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

The walk across the tarmac and through the small airport seemed to free up Christopher's stiff joints but did nothing for the pain or tiredness he felt. Once they had collected their bags, they all peeled off many layers of extra clothing. Jackets and cardigans ended up back in their bags and Sam rolled up the long sleeves of her son's shirt.

"I don't think it's the heat" Sam said to her father-in-law, "It's the humidity."

"Mmmm, quite sticky" Christopher said.

"What was the name of the hotel, Dad?" Andrew asked, coming back in from the footpath. "I've got us a taxi but I don't know where we're going."

"Oh" Christopher said and fished out the paperwork from his pocket. "Regatta Hotel, Andrew. It's right on the Brisbane River. The driver might know it."

"Rightyo, Dad." He stepped back out again.

"Here," Christopher said to Sam, "let me help with those." He moved his own modest case to his right hand and picked up Sam's with the other. "Have we got everything, love?"

"Yes, I think so, Christopher. It will be marvelous to be able to relax when we get to the hotel."

"Can't disagree with that, Sam. Come on, we'll see how Andrew got on with the taxi." As Christopher took a step with his right leg, his knee clicked and creaked. His face crinkled and he placed his case on the floor to use his hand to rub up and down his aching joint. Young Anthony raced over to his Grampa's side and used his own hands to give the offending knee a rub.

"Better, Grampa?" he asked, looking hopeful.

"Much, lad. Thank you" Christopher told his grandson. "Come on, let's get to the taxi. Can't keep him waiting."

"You alright, Christopher?" Sam asked with a genuine look of compassion.

"I am, love. Come on."

After a somewhat uncomfortable journey, with Andrew in the front seat and Christopher, Anthony and Sam across the back, they made their way into the ground floor of the hotel. Andrew turned over his shoulder to take in the view. "Quite a beautiful river" he said.

"It is" the young man behind the desk said with a nod of agreement. "You'll get a better view from the floor above. Here, I'll help you with these."

"Thank you" Christopher said to the young man as he practically ran up and down the internal stairs with their bags.

"If you're up early enough, you'll see the boats go up and down. The University, just around the bend, uses the river for their rowing team."

"What time is dinner served?" Andrew asked the lad after all of their bags had been deposited into their respective rooms.

"Between six and seven thirty" the lad replied. "Chef will refuse to cook after that."

"Right" Christopher said with a surprised smile. He turned to speak to Andrew and Sam. "We've still got an hour or so before we have to head on down for dinner. I'll take the lad, give you and Sam a break. A rest will do you good."

"Thanks, Dad" Andrew told him as he stretched and tried to unknot his aching back and neck.

"Yes, thank you" Sam said with a grateful smile.

That smile alone was worth putting up with the pain in his knee for a bit longer.

"Can I go and sit on the balcony, Grampa?" Anthony asked rather excitedly.

"If you're careful, lad. And I think they call it a verandah."

Christopher was unpacking his back, keeping a covert eye on his grandson's activities while he did so.

"Can I sleep in here with you, Grampa? Staying with Mum and Dad is boring." He gave an over exaggerated bend of his knees as he said the word 'boring'. It made his grandfather smile.

"If it's alright with your mother, yes you can. Ask her first, though."

"Ace!" He continued his observations of the fast flowing river as he exclaimed.

Christopher came up behind his youngest grandson and placed his hands on the lad's shoulders. The cool breeze hit both of them in the face while they watched the river run by.

"Oh, look at that!" Christopher suddenly said.

"What, Grampa?"

"Look down by the river, beside the tallest gum tree."

"Which one's the gum tree, Grampa?"

"The one with the grey speckled trunk and thin leaves, Ant."

"Oh, okay." He said and pointed to the tree that he believed his grandfather spoke of. "That one?"

"Yes, that one. Look beside it. What do you see."

"Oh, wow, Grampa. I've only been in Australia for a little while and I've already seen a kangaroo!"

Christopher couldn't help but smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**A flight of fancy**

January 1963

Chapter 2

The four of them, Anthony's hand held firmly by Sam, filed into the Solicitor's office at nine the next morning. Thank fully, they had all had a decent sleep, although Sam had been woken by the sound of a possum grunting on the rail of the verandah just after two.

Giving in to comfort, Christopher had left off his waistcoat but still wore his jacket and tie. Andrew had brought his corduroy jacket, at Sam's insistence, but had no intention of even putting it on. It went straight over the back of his chair and stayed there.

"Anthony," Andrew said quite sternly to his son to get his attention, "come and sit down, son."

"Why can't I sit with Grampa?" he said with his hands upturned in the air.

"You can sit with whomever you please, Ant, just stay there." Andrew's hand slipped across his forehead in masked frustration.

Christopher reached over and pulled his grandson up onto his lap, locking his left arm around his waist to keep him still.

The door opened and the solicitor entered. "Good morning" he said to them before sitting. "My name's Colin Baxter. Pleased to meet you." He smiled at each in turn. "Now which one of you is Christopher David Foyle?"

"That'll be me" Christopher said and struggled to raise himself off his seat with an eight year old locked against his chest. How do you do." Christopher introduced the solicitor to his small but much loved family. "My son, Andrew" he said with a gesture to his right, "my daughter-in-law Sam" with a gesture to his left, "and this strapping young lad" Christopher said with a bounce of his knees making the lad giggle, "is their youngest son, Anthony."

"Pleased to finally meet you, Mr Foyle. Your sister spoke of you and Andrew often."

Christopher's head went back in shock. "She did?"

"Oh yes, very proud of you all." Mr Baxter brought out an old brown paper covered scrap book that was so full, it almost wouldn't close. "This was her most prized possession" he said handing it over to Christopher. Andrew stood and went to stand behind his father to share in this latest discovery.

"I'll leave you all for a little while." he said. "I think you'll enjoy this."

"I've never seen this before" Christopher softly said and opened to the first page. Stuck down with a fair amount of sticky tape was a photograph of a young Christopher, in full army uniform. He stood tall and proud with his rifle in his right hand. Underneath was written 'Christopher David 1914'.

"Who's that, Grampa?"

"That's uh me, Anthony. From a long time ago."

"Doesn't look like you, Grampa?"

"Doesn't it?"

"No, it looks like Dad."

"Does a bit, I suppose." He smiled at that.

Christopher's finger slipped across the neat lettering. "That's my mother's writing. She must have sent it to Alex." On the following few pages were newspaper clippings of any article that mentioned his unit or him personally. Page after page of yellowed clippings with his name underlined in ink. Andrew suddenly spoke over his father's shoulder. "These aren't local papers, Dad. They're English papers. Did you send them to her? Did Grandma?"

"I didn't, my mother might have, though."

Across the centre fold of the book sat a clipping from the Hastings Gazette dated 12th January 1919

The title of the article was 'Mr Howard's Youngest Daughter Weds'. Andrew's eyes quickly scanned the print and the more he read the more he laughed. "Dad, I don't even think you're mentioned once in that whole article." Andrew's hand came down heavily on his father's shoulder. "You're not even in the photo, Dad!"

Both Foyle man laughed at the ridiculous nature of the British aristocracy.

Christopher shook his head from side to side as he flipped through page after page of crime reports through the 1920s, 30s and 40s. Every time his name appeared, it was underlined. Suddenly, both he and Andrew launched into fits of uncontrolled laughter. Both looked over at Sam.

"What?" she said looking quite uncomfortable.

Christopher spun the book around and there, at the top of the article, was a picture of Sam in her MTC uniform. She had the greatest scowl on her face as she stood beside the Wolseley.

"Is that Mummy?" Anthony asked.

"Indeed it is" Christopher told him.

"She doesn't look very happy" Anthony said.

"Darling, your eyes look like they're firing daggers at the poor photographer" Andrew told her through a smothered laugh.

"Well," Sam declared with pursed lips, "perhaps I was having a particularly bad day."

"Must have been a really bad day, Mum. Gee Wiz!"

When Christopher turned to another page, Anthony's spontaneous laugh made them all smile.

"Look at Dad!" he declared in between his fits of laughter.

Andrew ran his finger along the wording under his photo. "Cub Scout Andrew Foyle, seven, presents his fishing badge which he received at yesterday's meeting. Well done, young Andrew."

"But Dad, you hate fishing!" Anthony said, still not being able to control his laughter.

Andrew looked at his father. "I think I remember making you take me out every Saturday for a month, just so that I could get my badge. I hated very minute of it but Benny Martin had his fishing badge and I couldn't let him win."

"You really ought to give that badge to Mum, Dad. She's much better at fishing than you are, anyway."

"I think you're right, son." Andrew's hand ruffled his son's hair.

"Oh!" said Sam suddenly. She put her hand on Christopher's to stop him from turning just yet. "Look at Dad, Ant. That's when he graduated from Oxford."

"I was there, wasn't I, Mum? I remember."

"No darling, this was when Dad first graduated."

"I'd not long come back from the war, Ant."

"Look how thin you were, darling" she said quietly as her finger ran across the face in the picture.

"Not so much now" Andrew declared, patting his more rounded middle. Anthony poked his father's tummy and giggled.

"Mmmm, thank goodness. I don't think you could have got much thinner, Andrew."

Christopher gave her hand a quick pat and turned the page.

"Oh, I do remember that day" Christopher said to Sam with a guilty smile.

"That's mum, and that's you Grampa but who's the baby? Is it me?"

"No, sweetheart," Sam told him. "That's Geoffrey. Your Grampa drove me to hospital that day. Your brother just couldn't wait."

"Still a bit impatient, isn't he?" Christopher asked his grandson.

"I'll say!"

"Dad's not in the picture."

"No," Andrew replied. "I think I was flying over France at the time. My Wingco showed me the telegram once I landed…..one of the happiest days of my life." He reached across and took Sam's hand.

"And there's my favourite grand daughter."

"Grampa, Rosie's your only grand daughter."

"That's true."

"What year was that taken?" Sam asked.

"Uh, '58, the clipping says, love."

"Must have been when she won the Gymkhana. She was so proud."

"Mmmm, so was her Grampa!"

"Wait a minute!" Anthony said with a frown. "Everyone else has had their picture in here. What about me?"

"Well, I haven't finished yet, Have I?" Christopher's finger pointed to the few pages left at the back. "Shall we continue, Ant?"

"Yep" he said and wriggled around until he was more comfortable. "Go, Grampa."

"Here we are," Christopher read. "Hastings boy, two year old Anthony Foyle receives one of the first titanium prosthetic legs made for children. The young lad's Godfather, Paul Milner who is also and amputee from an injury he received during the war, was on hand to help him overcome any obstacles."

"That's my leg from when I was a baby. I've got a big boy's leg now." Anthony knocked on the hard titanium shell with his fist.

"And almost due for another soon, too." Sam told him with a smile.

"Doesn't stop you from getting up to mischief, does it, Anthony?" Christopher asked with a wink.

"No, Grampa" he answered in a loud whisper.

Mr Baxter, who had returned some time before, handed Christopher his sister's Last Will and Testament. He opened the envelope and began to read.

 _I, Alexandra Katherine Foyle, do hereby bequeath all of my worldly assets to Geoffrey Andrew Foyle, Rosalind Samantha Foyle, and Anthony Christopher Foyle in equal parts._

 _It is my hope and prayer that this gift to them will encourage them to strive harder and reach further, in whatever their endeavors are, to overcome any and all obstacles that life puts in their path._

The silence in the room was only broken by Andrew's voice after he picked up his son and put him on his back. "Thank you Aunt Alex."

 **Author's note: Well, it was a little bit of mindless fluff that was buzzing around in my head and just had to come out. Hope you enjoyed.**


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